


a room where the light won’t find you

by angel_yuri



Series: everybody wants to rule the world [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Smut, descriptions of violence, otabek is so smitten it makes me nauseous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_yuri/pseuds/angel_yuri
Summary: Otabek’s losing hope, not that he had much of it before. People like him, they don’t get a happy ending. Yuri deserves one, God, his angel deserves the world and the only thing Otabek can give him is freedom. Freedom. An anklet ripped off. He’ll be fucking damned if he doesn’t give it to Yuri, if he doesn’t help him spread those wings.When everything seems to be falling apart, the only force driving Otabek is the possibility of giving his Yura a new chance at life.





	a room where the light won’t find you

**Author's Note:**

> There we are, the end of the story. Thank you for your kudos and comments, I hope you’ll enjoy this. Let me know what you think!

_There's a room where the light won't find you_  
_Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down_  
_When they do, I'll be right behind you_  
_So glad we've almost made it_  
_So sad they had to fade it_  
_Everybody wants to rule the world_

There exists one easy, mostly non-bloody way to take down Aleksey, Otabek is well aware of it. He knows that if Dimitri were to strike a deal with the FBI through Otabek himself, if he and the rebels were to join forces with Otabek’s lot, Aleksey could be put away for good. Now, Otabek knows a lot of things about disposing of unwanted people and he also knows a lot of things about himself. He knows he is selfish. He knows he gets what he wants. He knows, once he has it, he’s not going to let go of it easily. So no, there will be no deals with the FBI, no carefully planned raids. There’ll be nothing of this if he wants to keep Yuri by his side.

Yuri, the last thing he has left, the angel, the kitten, the boy. The man. He’s got a fire inside, his angel, he’s all salt rubbing on a gunshot wound. If he tells Yuri the truth, he’ll lose him, that’s one of the things he knows. His angel is nothing but loyal and expects loyalty in return, he’s painful words spoken with blood on his lips under the disguise of a winter night. Yuri tells him a lot, Otabek listens. He listens and listens and listens and says nothing in return. It gets him angry, sometimes. When he’s mad, his angel is knives and spite and it _hurts_ , but that’s fine. As long as he’s there, as long as Otabek can shut him up with a kiss and apologise through hard thrusts and reverent caresses, it’s fine. There are times, though, when Yuri is not a volcano, there are times when he’s as still as a lake in the middle of a sweltering summer day. When he’s silent and looks at Otabek with something achingly close to disappointment. It makes him feel like a scolded child, it makes him want to cry and say sorry all over again.

It’s dangerous, the kind of power this angel has over him, all it takes for Otabek to crumble is a silent stare and a light shake of his pretty head. Still, Otabek is strong and unwavering and keeps his truths laced tight inside of himself. One day he’ll have to tell him, that’s another thing he knows, but he’s _scared_. God, Otabek Altin is scared. He’s scared of losing him, be it Yuri’s choice or someone else’s, because two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

***

The jealousy is eating him away, it’s a constant knife plunging deep inside his stomach, blood and gore and rage oozing from the wound. He thought that watching his angel dance for Aleksey was bad, he thought that watching him go home hand in hand with another man was bad. This... This is much worse, this is Otabek staying silent and composed, sitting with his back straight and his hands on the table, while Aleksey discusses trade and trafficking with a kitten on his lap. _Otabek’s kitten_. This is Otabek clenching his fists until nails draw up blood on his palm while Aleksey jokes that Yuri should help him alleviate stress during meetings. He’s not joking, not one bit. He’s not joking as he pushes Yuri under the table, he’s not joking as he gives a smug, filthy smile to the other men in the room and he’s not joking as he turns to Otabek and says:

“You should get a pet of your own, you deserve it.”

Then, he hisses. The chair screeches back and the sound of flesh hitting flesh resonates in the room. Otabek stops breathing. He inhales and waits until he feels dizzy, until he’s too weak to react.

“Mind your fucking teeth.” Spits Aleksey. The ‘yes, daddy’ that follows is lost to the sound of blood pumping in Otabek’s ears, he might be sick. He might snap, get the fuck up, pull out his gun and shoot that piece of shit in the head. No, that would be too easy. That wouldn’t hurt enough. Maybe Otabek would take his time carving the skin of Aleksey’s body layer by layer, maybe he’d pull his teeth and nails out one by one, maybe he’d-

“I’ve got a job for you.”

Aleksey is talking to him, the entire room is looking at them. The entire room is thinking about the angel with a mouthful under the table. _Breathe, Otabek. Breathe._ He nods. Aleksey smiles.

When he exits the conference room, he doesn’t wait for anyone before getting lost in the maze-like corridors of the Residence. He knows this place like the back of his hand, he knows every room, every staircase. He knows every secret passage and every fucking crevice of this golden prison. Sometimes he dreams it, he dreams about the Residence and his Yura. When he called him that, the first time, when it slipped heavy and sex-coated from his mouth, the angel started crying. That was the night he learned about Yuratchka. In his dreams, he sees his angel standing in the middle of a huge corridor, a white bed shirt on his body and nothing else. Darkness swallows him, Otabek sees his light dimming bit by bit and he runs. He runs and runs as fast as he can but Yuri is _too far away_ , the more Otabek advances, the more his angel recedes. He’s dying, in the dream. He’s a beacon of ivory skin, he looks small and innocent standing there as the light emanating from his body threatens to give away for good. The corridor is dark, it’s all high ceiling and high walls and shadows with monster-like hands and claws closing in on the only human thing present. Not Otabek, no. He’s not human anymore, he’s nothing but an empty shell. And then there’s him: an angel as much as he’s a boy, divine as much as he’s flesh and blood. Breakable. Otabek usually wakes up then, when the shadows surrounding his angel swallow him whole. He doesn’t get to him, he doesn’t save him. Never.

“Dimitri, it’s Otabek.”

On the other end of the phone, Dimitri hums in satisfaction, as if he’s been expecting a call for quite some time now.

“I’m in. Consider Aleksey a dead man.”

***

The difficult thing about getting rid of someone is not the ‘getting rid of’ part. No, it’s what is left behind. Aleksey earned his spot on the throne, that much is undeniable, and it means that he has people ready to service him with a snap of his fingers. It means there are people who genuinely feel something akin to respect and loyalty towards this monster of a man, this creature who runs an empire and never gets his own hands dirty. He’s very quiet, Aleksey, he’s a snake hidden in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know when to flash his power: Yuri under the table, glorious galas, sketchy sex and drugs parties. He knows what the right thing to do is and when to do it, it’s really no surprise he got to the top fairly young.

Aleksey is only forty and, when his father died, it was his name that secured him the position. He followed through, though, he proved to be a ruthless, competent leader and now his people would point a gun to their own head if he asked them to. That is the problem. Killing Aleksey would be easy, a bullet to the heart and he’d be dead in a matter of seconds. Those he’d leave behind, though, wouldn’t hesitate to avenge him. Otabek and Dimitri would cause a revolution and they’d end up burned at the stake like the traitors they are, maybe their heads would be cut off before and exposed in front of the Residence for everyone to see and spit on. Yuri would be devastated. Speaking of, Yuri shouldn’t be involved in this at all. As much as he can prove himself to be a valuable weapon, Otabek can’t risk losing him. It’s selfish, what he’s doing. Keeping secrets, risking his own life but not even daring expose his angel to danger. No, he doesn’t care. Otabek can see it clear as water, a future in which his perfect angel -dressed in black from head to toe with tear-streaked cheeks- mourns him from the moment the sun rises to the one it sets. At least he’d be alive.

Otabek’s losing hope, not that he had much of it before. People like him, they don’t get a happy ending. Yuri deserves one, God, his angel deserves the world and the only thing Otabek can give him is freedom. Freedom. An anklet ripped off. Bruises fading until his skin is white and pristine again. He’ll be fucking damned if he doesn’t give it to Yuri, if he doesn’t help him spread those wings. Otabek’s losing hope, though, and Aleksey seems more invincible every day that passes and the people from D.C. are getting suspicious and Otabek _doesn’t know what to do_. It’s a weight threatening to crush his ribs and smash his heart into a puddle of blood and regret, it’s continuous calls that he has to hide from Yuri, but his kitten isn’t stupid. No, his Yura knows something is up and Otabek knows he’ll have to tell him sooner or later, but he just can’t. He can’t. He can’t lose him, he can’t hurt him. He needs to deal with this alone, he needs to find a way to make Aleksey’s people’s loyalty waver, to make them trust him. Them. He needs a damn break, that’s what he needs. Of course, that is the moment the phone rings.

“Gamma, thirty-six, Beijing, six-oh-four, Hemingway, Atlanta.”

“Beta, sixty-two, Singapore, four-sixty-seven, Kerouac, Seattle.”

It’s raining outside, the drops hit the roof of the phone booth rhythmically, continuous _tic-tocs_ scanning the seconds. The door doesn’t close completely, a small draft lets in the cold, October air and sends chills down Otabek’s spine. Maybe it’s not the wind, though.

“Agent Altin, this is captain McCoy speaking.”

That’s the moment Otabek realises things are going to get bad, the Bureau wouldn’t inconvenience its captain for a mere check-up call. Something tells him that the news about his missing report last month finally reached the powers that be, and this? This won’t be pretty.

“Yes.”

There is a brief pause, so short lived that one might mistake it as simply breathing, but Otabek knows better.

“This mission has been classified as failed. You have one month to initiate plan D, we’re picking you up at the arranged location thirty days from now.”

Then, the call ends and the line goes dead. Just like that. As if they didn’t just move the ground from beneath Otabek’s feet, as if they didn’t just sign his death certificate. He might make it out alive, he might succeed and execute plan D without a glitch, but when he’ll go back to the States, when he’ll be alone in his fucking apartment with a bed that’s too soft and no Yuri between his arms, he’ll be as well as dead. He was aware of the risks, this mission was bound to come to an end sooner or later, but he isn’t anywhere near done here. Not with the mission itself, nor with Aleksey. He wasn’t expecting this. An agent once told him, when he was twenty and fresh out of boot camp, that if he chose this life it must mean ha had no one to go back home to. At the time, he didn’t. Now, he does. At the time, he was an orphan kid turned adult who left for America to escape his parents’ death. In hindsight, his father probably deserved it: when you don’t pay your debts, people start collecting in their own way, they make an example out of you. His mother, though, was just collateral damage and six years-old Otabek was ‘just a child’, courtesy of an untrained newbie.

_I can’t. I can’t, he’s a child. Just- just leave him here, he’ll die of starvation or something._

If not for Miss Ayna, he would have. Miss Ayna who had been a mother to him since he could remember, since his own mother couldn’t be bothered with taking care of an infant with all the charity balls and council meeting she had to attend. For a long time, after leaving Miss Ayna’s care, he had no home to go back to. He couldn’t risk going back to her, couldn’t risk the wrong people finding out who she had been hiding, so he left and travelled and learnt and now he’s here being the person he swore he’d never be. She made him promise, before he got on that plane, she made him promise he’d do something good with his life. _Ajnalajyn, promise me_. Look where that got him. He’s a person from his own nightmares, but he guesses he still has time to do something good. He can still save him, his angel, he can still give him the key to those golden chains wrapped around his neck that tighten every day that passes and are going to choke him sooner or later. _Sheshe, I can do something good_. Maybe he won’t be able to go back to him, to the first home he’s had since he was sixteen, to his Yura, but that’s okay. He’ll survive, just like he always does. And maybe he’ll be dead inside, maybe he won’t be able to fall asleep without thinking of golden hair and that cocky, little smile, but his body will function and he’ll go through the motions, day by day. He’ll survive thinking that his angel got to spread those wings and fly far away from this prison. He has one month to make things right, he can start by going home.

When he leaves the phone booth, with no umbrella and only the flimsy material of his hood sheltering him from the rain, Otabek ends up soaked in a matter of seconds. The puddles on the asphalt reflect the city lights, distorting images and visions. Visions like a glimpse of pale skin tainted red, green eyes glazed over, unseeing. He’s going crazy. The nightmares that plague him are left unhinged, free to follow him through the gloomy streets of Moscow, projecting themselves on the windows of dirty bars and broken apartments. They leave him shaky, wary in a way Otabek’s never been, not even after infiltrating the _bratva_. The front door of his apartment complex looms in the distance, though, a beacon steered by his angel, guiding him home. He follows the light, impatient, until he finally steps foot into the warmth of a place he never thought could be a safe haven. Until he walks into the kitchen and finds his Yura cluttering pans and pots and swearing with that endearing frown on his face because he still hasn’t learnt where Otabek keeps his plates. Something settles inside him, then, the piece of a puzzle falling into place. He exhales. He gets to breathe all over again.

“Hello.”

Yuri hears him enter the apartment, still, he waits for Otabek to walk behind him and warp his arms around his angel before greeting him. A small ‘hello’ and a kiss. Today’s not a good day, then. He has them sometimes, days in which he’s not the Fairy of Moscow, but he’s not Yuratchka or Yura either. Days in which he says he’s nothing, nothing but a body and a whole lot of memories that struggle to re-emerge from where they’ve been buried all those years ago. God, Otabek wants to kill each and every man that ever laid finger on Yuri, he wants to make them pay for every stolen kiss, for the stolen innocence. He thinks about Dimitri, too, sometimes. Yuri tells him that’s different, he tells him that he’d be far worse off if Dimitri hadn’t given him that one chance. Still, the thought of those filthy hands on his angel makes him bristle. It’s not irrational jealousy, it’s not Otabek being bigotedly territorial in a strange alpha male kind of display. The thing is that Otabek _knows_ Dimitri, he knows his self-righteousness, his snobbish attitude and selfishness. There is only one way he might have treated a low-class stripper and it certainly isn’t with kindness. Pity, maybe, although that might be worse. So yes, thinking about Dimitri touching what is now his (as much as he himself is Yuri’s) gets him all kind of troubled.

“Want me to make it better?” Asks Otabek, trying to derail his thoughts from going down _that_ road.

“Make what better?” Mumbles his angel, all pouty lips and heavy eyes. A small sigh, too. It shouldn’t be so endearing.

“Your shitty day.”

His angel smiles, then, and Otabek feels a thousand stupid bubbles explode in his chest. Lately, he’s been so soft it makes him nauseous. Yuri nods, though, colour already rising to his cheeks and Otabek doesn’t waste any time before promptly dropping to his knees behind him. Yuri looks surprised and a bit confused at first, knitted brows and parted lips, as if he’s about to say something, but then realisation washes over him and his jaw snaps shut. _Oh_. Deliberately slow, as slow as eagerness concedes him, Otabek slides his angel’s pants and briefs down those milky thighs. There, there it is, all smooth and soft just for him. He bites the warm flesh of a round cheek, teasing, and feels his kitten’s weight fall forward on his hands, where he’s tightly gripping the counter. _There we go_.

“ _Be-ka_.”

It’s said with an exhale, breathy and whiny and so desperate already. Otabek is going to lose his mind. Every time it’s like this, every single, fucking time and Otabek should have gotten used to it by now -he should have gotten used to this kind of energy, this feeling of powerlessness that comes with seeing his Yura all ready for him, trusting him like that. It’s heady, this rush of -of _something_ inside him. It’s also called ‘love’, but Otabek is not ready for that step, yet. It’s pretty obvious, he knows that this clever kitten knows all about Otabek’s heart and heartbreaks, but he always finds himself holding back. Maybe it’s because he wants to keep something for after, after he tells him, after it all falls apart. Maybe he’s keeping those three words as some kind of leverage, as one last bullet. Yuri begs him again, though, and Otabek is reminded that he has a mission to accomplish here.

***

He meets Dimitri and a bunch of rebels in a warehouse just outside of Moscow, a place that is supposed to be redesigned into a club, a project that has been assigned to Dimitri, obviously. Aleksey never bothers with this part of the job, the legal, legitimate business. He just benefits from it once everything is in done and pretty kittens dance all over the place with blown out pupils and a particular thirst for powerful men. He can see it, can imagine how it’ll look a few years from now: an alternative club all bondage themed, with leather sofas and red lights, just like its clientele. For now, though, it’s as empty as Otabek’s heart (ha, if only that was true) and Dimitri is standing in the middle of it, like some kind of king. A new Aleksey. The thought is disturbing to say the least. The rebels with him can’t be more than twenty, but the fact that half of the them, Otabek recognises is far more reassuring. It means they’re inner circle, it means they’re the people they should be targeting if they want to start a revolution.

“Nice of you to show up, Beka.” Greets him Dimitri. Great, off to a good start.

“I’ve had some trouble along the way, Aleksey thinks I’m dealing with Petrov’s people. It’s a surprise I’m here at all.”

It should be enough to impress the rebels, Otabek presenting himself as someone who’s not afraid of disobeying Aleksey’s orders. And it is, much to Dimitri’s displeasure. They’re supposed to be allies, they’re supposed to support each other, but Dimitri isn’t a man who shares and Otabek should have known better. Still, trying to sabotage him from the get go won’t do any good to anybody. If this is how he wants to play it, Otabek has no qualms, he’ll just have to expect fire in return.

“We were discussing how to ruin the next few missions, two or three maybe.” Pipes up one of the rebels, Valery, if Otabek isn’t mistaken and he nearly never is. This man is some sort of consultant, with his crisp suit and tight tie where everybody else is clad in leather and torn boots. He’s one of those people who sit on a table next to Aleksey and tell him which business to take down or invest in. Business, of course, is a synonym for anything but.

“That’s good, the next one should be a minor raid into one of Petrov’s men’s factory, that’s where I was supposed to be.” Replies Otabek. It’s a good idea, starting small and slowly painting Aleksey as someone who can’t handle the pressure anymore.

“How are you going to explain to Aleksey why you don’t have what he asked for?”

 _Fucking Dimitri_.

“I do have it, though. A trusted person is mapping out the building as we speak, he’s just doing it wrong.”

If everyone’s eyes hadn’t already been on Otabek since he stepped into the warehouse, they’d snap to him the exact moment those words leave his mouth.

“What are you talking about? You can’t go and act without consulting us - _me_ \- first. You know what your place is, Beka.”

It feels like fire’s burning hot and unstopping in his stomach, some kind of quiet bomb waiting to explode. Otabek can’t lose control, though, he can’t diminish Dimitri’s figure right in front of everyone, as much as he’d like to. The thing is that Otabek does want Dimitri to take Aleksey’s place, it’s not something he wants for himself. He’s not doing this for the power, for the money and the kittens. For the adrenaline and the privileges. No, he’s doing this for his Yura. He’s putting Dimitri under the spotlight so that he can leave Moscow for good, so that he can go back to a miserable existence without being chased his whole life, it’s part of their agreement and Otabek is still naive enough to believe that Dimitri will keep his word. After all, Otabek is a threat: some kind of _enfant prodige_ that could overturn all of Dimitri’s plans and delusions of grandeur if he were to stay in Russia and partake in this second republic of sorts.

“I simply took a chance, I won’t let an opportunity like this pass by just because you can’t be bothered to trust your own allies.” Well, his brain-to-mouth filter must be quite askew. “And what I meant is that Petrov’s man was supposed to give me a map of the factory of his own accord, since he’s been under Aleksey’s control for a long time. He would have done it and the map would have been perfect and detailed and the surprise raid would have gone perfectly. That’s not what we need. We need this mission to fail, so I’ll hand in an inaccurate one in its place and blame it on Petrov himself.”

“Aleksey won’t fall for it.” Bursts out a voice from the middle of the small crowd. Otabek turns around, a raised eyebrow and scorn evident in his features.

“Aleksey _trusts_ me.” Starts Otabek, his smile is tight and scary, something from a horror movie, something from a nightmare. “I’ve killed more than I can count for him, I’ve sacrificed a lot and he knows it. He thinks I want to be like him, he thinks I admire him and in some way maybe I do, but that’s not important. What’s important is that I know him.” He turns completely, then, and faces every single one of them. “I know him better than any of you. If you’re here to take him down, if you’re here because you want to see his face smashed in the gutter, then you need to learn not to doubt the choices I -we, Dimitri and I- make.”

Needless to say, the mission fails and the one after that and the one after that one, too. Rumours are starting to spread, even the men working at the lowest ranks caught a whiff of the problems and tension within Aleksey’s inner circle. There’s been attacks on many of their properties, mainly indoor plantations and labs. After all, the drug market is the one Aleksey relies the most on, the most profitable. After that, there’s weapons. Just like sharks, though, both minor and bigger gangs have begun to smell blood in the water and Aleksey’s empire is crumbling bit by bit. Otabek gets to hear about it all, he gets to face Aleksey’s wrath and the rebels’ pride. Their group gets larger everyday, more and more people are starting to realise that Aleksey’s is a sinking boat and they’re running to the first lifeboat they hear of. Things are relatively good, too good for Otabek’s tastes. Something will happen, he’s certain of it, it’s not possible for luck to remain on his side so long and that’s just a fact.

Of course, Aleksey is furious and it wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t decided to unload his rage on the one person he shouldn’t be allowed to touch. Ever. Otabek finds out when it’s too late, as always. He finds out when the worst of the storm has already passed because Yuri is nothing but a martyr, because Yuri doesn’t know how to ask for help. (Because Yuri wants to protect him as much as Otabek does him.) In hindsight, Otabek has to admit that it wasn’t stupid on Yuri’s part, because him finding out is what fucks it all up. He goes a bit crazy, you see, when he comes back from a day at the Residence and finds his angel with broken bones and broken wings, blood tainting his skin. So. Much. Blood. He’s crying and he’s fiddling with a first aid kit and Otabek stops dead in his tracks, walks out of the apartment and goes back in, just in case he’s hallucinating. He’s not.

“What the fuck happened.” It’s supposed to be a question, it comes out like a threat and Yuri flinches. He _flinches_. Otabek feels like throwing up. “Fucking answer me.”

He realises he’s at Yuri’s side, that he’s gripping his chin and forcing his head towards him and he’s _hurting_ him- he drops his hand and takes a step back as if burned. It’s just- it’s- things are getting blurry in his head and there’s this blood red haze clogging his mind and he wants to fucking rip Aleksey’s throat out with his fucking teeth, because this is Aleksey’s doing, there’s no denying that. He must have made some pathetic sound because the next thing he knows, his angel is right in front of him, all hunched over because his ribs are fucking cracked and he’s just standing there, leaning on Otabek’s chest as if he can just wrap his arms around him and cure his injuries. He can’t, that’s the point. He holds him anyway. Gently.

“I’m sorry.”

It takes another moment to realise that those words came out as a chocked sob from his own lips, then he’s crying. Silently, because Yuri is crying loudly.

“I’m so sorry.”

He says it again, just in case. Actually, just because he can’t stop. He says it again and again and again because this is all his fault. His angel is hurt because of him. Strangely enough, the thought only serves to remind him that Yuri needs a fucking hospital, not a useless man like Otabek standing there and crying in his hair. Jesus. When he tells him, though, Yuri starts shaking because the hospital, it seems, is not an option. He calls one of the rebels, then, a doctor they recruited very recently. Maybe seeing what a monster like Aleksey has done to his Yura will help him solidify his devotion to the revolution and - _what?_ What the fuck did he just think? He did it, he really thought he could twist this to his favour, for the cause, because apparently Yuri hasn’t been used enough. Apparently, Otabek has to squeeze every last drop out of him, he has to be like those before him. He’s becoming just like them, just like those men he wanted to kill for so much as looking in Yuri’s direction, those men who tore him apart and bared his soul to the harsh reality of a world that wasn’t made for such delicacy.

Maybe it’s that feeling, maybe it’s forcing himself to sit down and hold Yuri’s hand while the doctor stitches his wounds. Maybe it’s the fact that it was a long time coming. As soon as Yuri is passed out on painkillers, Otabek calls for a last minute meeting with the rebels, same place. He doesn’t tell Dimitri because, deep down, he knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he’s fucking it all up but he just can’t stop himself from moving. From telling the rebels that tonight is the night, from gathering all the weapons and ammunition they need and guiding them to the Residence. A revolution. Of course, everything goes wrong the moment they pass the gates. They’re outnumbered, a few of his guys have never even shot a gun. They can’t count on those working at the Residence because they’re not on shift and Otabek is leading every one of this men to his death. He calls for retreat but it’s too late, Aleksey has seen him. The moment, it goes like this, in slow motion: Otabek’s running to the nearest exit, twin guns in his hands and sweat on his face, Aleksey has been informed of the invasion and steps right in front of the door Otabek was aiming for. They both stop, for a tenth of a second they both stop and look at each other. Aleksey’s face has never been so expressive, betrayal, hurt, disappointment. Then, anger. Otabek runs in the opposite direction.

He makes it out of the Residence alive. He doesn’t deserve it, he deserved to die there with those men he sacrificed in a fit of rage and vendetta. Still, he’s alive and he needs to run. He needs to get Yuri to safety and then- well, then he’ll meet whatever fate will throw at him. For now, he runs to his apartment. It’s the first place they’ll search and Yuri is there, asleep and defenceless, he has to be fast but maybe fast is not enough. It is, in the end. He gets there on time, starts yelling at Yuri to move, they need to go, they need to leave, _I fucked up, baby, I’m so sorry I fucked up_. It’s chaos, it’s calling Dimitri and putting pride aside because they need a place to hide for a few days. It’s Dimitri telling him no, it’s Dimitri telling him maybe, if Yuri pays the price. It’s Otabek being on the cusp of hanging up on him and Yuri snatching the phone and saying: “I’ll do whatever you want me to”. It’s Otabek wanting to rip his ears out.

Everything is falling apart, but if they manage to stay in hiding for a few days Otabek can at least be sure that his angel will be safe. So, they go to Dimitri’s with their hearts in their throats and paranoia a heavy mist in the heads. They go to Dimitri’s and stay there for five days, before everything goes to shit all over again.

***

It’s been only a few hours when five armed men burst into the apartment, running and shouting where Aleksey is walking and smiling. It’s the middle of the night, the neon lights from the bar in front of Dimitri’s building enter the living room, casting green shadows on the walls. The music is a muted sound that both Otabek and Yuri have grown accustomed to, it scans the seconds. _Thump thump thump_. Yuri’s still bandaged up and stuffed full of painkillers, they make him a bit hazy, Otabek can see it in his slightly unfocused eyes. The fact that he’s looking at him is telling enough, it’s the last chance he has. The last chance to look at his angel, the last chance to memorise every single detail of his delicate features. The mole on his temple. The pillow crease on his cheek. Those eyes, the eyes of a soldier. That mouth. The last chance to imprint his angel’s face behind his lashes, an afterimage reappearing every time he closes his eyes and for one last time, when he’ll close them for good. No, no first he has to get him out of here, he has to save his Yura no mater what.

He wasn’t expecting this, though. Fuck, he wasn’t expecting this, if Aleksey is here it must mean that he’s found out Dimitri is one of them -one of the rebels. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, they were supposed to stay in hiding for another day and then Yuri was supposed to show up at the meeting point with the FBI in Otabek’s place. The message would have arrived to the Bureau by the time his angel was safe and sound into a plane for the States. Witness Protection Program, a new name and a new life, the FBI would have owed Otabek that much. The chance to start everything from scratch, the chance to pursue his dreams and to find someone with a normal job to really love him and take care of him. Except no one would ever love him as much as Otabek, no one would ever compare, but that wouldn’t have been the point. Otabek, he would have dealt with Aleksey somehow, holding on just enough for Yuri to make it out of Moscow and then... then, if there really existed a hell, he supposes that’s where he would have been heading to.

That’s not what happens, though. What happens is that Aleksey’s people and the man himself barge into Dimitri’s apartment, point their guns at Otabek and Yuri’s heads and. And don’t shoot. _They don’t shoot_. When Otabek cursed Aleksey for being a sadistic fuck, well, he probably should have thanked him for it instead, because it’s exactly his thirst for torture that gives them one last chance. They’re tied up, thrown into a van and brought to the Residence. Of course, the men don’t bother paying attention to Yuri’s injuries even though most of them have already healed. His muffled gasps of pain are enough to tear through Otabek’s chest and pierce every single vein and muscle except his heart, that one he’s leaving for last. When they reach the destination they’re rushed through opulent corridors until they reach a room that Otabek knows all too well, after all, he’s tortured more people than he can count here. If he focuses hard enough, he can see traces of blood on the floor, he can hear the screams and the begging. What goes around comes around, uh?

As they’re searched and Otabek is stripped of all his hidden weapons, as they’re untied and thrown onto the floor, Otabek realises that he can’t think. _He can’t think_. He needs to plan something, he needs to stop the rush of nonsensical whispers in his mind and fucking focus. He needs to find a way to get out of here, to get his Yura out of here, for all he cares he could rot in here himself. But not his Yura, not his angel. He made a promise and he intends to keep it, if it’s the last thing he does. _Sheshe, I can do something good_.

“You know, I should have expected this.” Says Aleksey. There’s half a smile on his lips, the self-conscious type. Neither of them responds. Aleksey turns to Otabek.

“I should have expected this from that stupid slut, but you? I had plans for you, Beka, great plans.”

It’s silent for an interminable moment, then Aleksey opens his mouth to continue and, of course, Yuri doesn’t let him speak.

“Fuck you.” Spits his angel, all furious eyes and cracking voice.

Aleksey ignores him, as if he’s not there, as if he’s nothing of importance. But he is. He is fire and spite and, again, he says:

“I said _fuck you_ , you deviant asshole.”

Otabek’s heart jumps in his throat, Aleksey’s eyes harden. _God, why can’t Yuri shut the fuck up?_ The glint in Aleksey’s gaze is the most frightening thing Otabek has seen in a long time, he won’t let someone like Yuri speak out of place. He can’t let him, not in front of his people, not ever. He’s not someone who dirties his own hands though, is he? With a slight nod of his head, he signals to one of his men. The hand that wraps around Yuri’s throat is enough to get Otabek on his feet and ready to kill whoever dared lay a hand on his Yura, but nothing’s ever easy. Two men restrain him, hands behind his back and legs kicked apart. He struggles, he sees those fingers tighten on pale skin and bites and kicks and _tries_. He fails, just like in his dreams. He never saves him, never. Aleksey is standing right in front of Yuri as the man behind him chokes Otabek’s angel within an inch of his life, he’s so close Otabek can feel the ghost of breath on his skin as if he were in Yuri’s place. He’s whispering something in Yuri’s ear and Otabek can see the mocking on his face, the cruelty in his eyes.

“Stop it!” He shouts to no avail, Aleksey doesn’t deign him of a glance. He keeps talking to Yuri and Yuri keeps choking and he’s turning paler and paler and his eyes are fluttering close-

“Fucking stop it! I’m the one who convinced all those people, I’m the one who told them what an incompetent piece of shit you are.”

It works, at the very last second but it works. His angel crumbles to the ground, drawing in a large breath and coughing. His hands are clutching at his throat as if he doesn’t believe he’s alive, as if he needs confirmation that those filthy fingers are really gone. Otabek gets to make sure he’s okay for a total of three seconds before his vision is obscured by Aleksey’s face.

“Oh, Beka, I know. I know all about what you did, it’s why I’m going to make this hurt very, very much.” It’s condescending, his tone. It makes Otabek want to head-butt him in the face and break his nose. “At first I though about killing your whore first and make you watch, maybe torture him a bit first, but then, you see, I realised that his is the biggest betrayal. I realised that he came to me with your filthy spunk already in his tight ass and, well, not that tight anymore, is it? After that time I made him take my fist...”

Otabek’s breath is coming shorter and shorter by the second, he can barely hear Aleksey’s words. The blood pumping in his ears is muffling everything else, he can feel his heartbeat accelerating. _Ta-dump, ta-dump, ta-dump_. This rage growing inside him is suffocating, it’s smothering his insides and consuming every last thread of sanity he has left.

“You should have been there, he was crying and screaming so beautifully, Beka.”

That’s when he does throw his head back and hits Aleksey in the face, the crunch of his nose breaking is the most satisfying sound he’s ever heard. Blood starts pouring all over his face and Otabek watches with a cruel smile of his lips as he struggles to stay put together and save his reputation. It was a stupid move, it will only manage to anger Aleksey further and it’ll make him want to kill Otabek sooner. He can’t save Yuri if he’s dead. He couldn’t hold back, though, not with those images swirling in his brain. Yuri’s tear-streaked face, screaming in pain, screaming for help. Screaming for Otabek.

“You fucking idiot.” Laughs Aleksey, “You _fucking_ idiot, you’re just making this worse for yourself.”

“You think I care?” Replies Otabek, mocking.

“Beka, shut up!” It’s Yuri, the irony of the statement isn’t lost to Otabek. He’s still on the floor, a hand on his hurt ribs and the other braced on the linoleum to hold himself up. The man who’d been choking him is now standing over him, threatening, pointing a gun to his head. He’s crying, he’s crying and he’s so scared, Otabek can see it in his eyes. He’s so fucking scared and Otabek can do nothing about, he can just stay there and take everything Aleksey has to give him and hope that something will happen before he turns his rage to Yuri. Hope that someone will come and do what Otabek wasn’t able to. He’s never felt so powerless.

“Yes, Beka, shut up.” Continues Aleksey, “Because now I’m going to tell you exactly how this will go. I’ll kill you first, so that sweet Yuri can see you die and realise that it’s all his fault-“

“It’s not! Yuri it’s n-“

“- _then_ , then I’m going to fuck him so hard he breaks and I’m going to use your blood as lube. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His eyes fall on Yuri. “You little slut.”

Otabek wants to throw up.

“Before, though, I’m going to have some fun.”

Another nod and the men behind him shove him to the floor, before he can even think about getting up they start kicking him and hitting him and everything around him becomes a blur. He can hear Yuri’s pleas to stop, to let him go and _please, please stop it!_ But they don’t stop. They keep going at it until the fight is drained out of him, until he’s left a bloody, bruised lump on the cold linoleum. Until he can’t move and his vision starts to dim. A hand in his hair snatches his head up, his eyes are swollen and unfocused but he can recognise Aleksey anyway. He’s holding a knife.

“I think I’m going to take your eyes first, then your tongue and then, I’m going to cut your hamstrings. If you pass out, I’m going to wake you up.”

Otabek’s head is swimming, his eyes threatening to fall shut, he’s distantly aware of Yuri crying in the background, begging. He’s going to faint. He can’t. He can’t let go, he can’t leave Yuri here. He will, though, there’s nothing he can do. He failed. He _failed_. It’s the last thing he’s ever going to think, that he let his angel down, that he failed him. In one last onslaught of power, he shakes Aleksey’s hand off and turns his body, it feels like tearing himself open but he wants to see. He wants to die seeing Yuri, he wants to say he’s sorry, he wants -he wants to tell him that he was meant to save him, that he was meant to make it out alive, he wants to remember their dreams and those times Yuri told him about a future where they get to live their happily ever after, but he can’t. Again, he can’t. He can’t even see his angel, there’s too much blood on his face, it’s coating his lashes and Otabek _can’t see him_. The only thing he can see is metal glinting in front of his face and that’s it, that’s the end. He wants to tell him he loves him, he should have done that long ago instead of keeping it a secret, instead of hoping it’d be some kind of last remedy to stitch their relationship back when the inevitable came. Except the inevitable has come and he didn’t tell him and now there’s nothing he wants more, maybe Yuri’s freedom. He’s going to die a failure, he’s going to die with regret on the tip of his tongue and blame heavy on his shoulders.

That’s the end and it’s also the moment the door to the room bursts open and someone shoots Aleksey right in the head.

***

When he wakes up, it feels like a thousand trucks drove over his body and are now currently honking in his ears. He can’t open his eyes, at first, it’s the light as much the fact that they’re swollen, Otabek recognises the feeling. That’s what triggers the memories, that’s what makes him forget all about pain and IVs as he tries to sit up on this too-soft bed he woke up on. He wants to see Yuri, where the hell is Yuri? What happened, is he alive? Who killed Aleksey? He doesn’t get any answer, though, because as soon as his feet hit the ground a nurse is by his side insisting he stops moving but he can’t -he can’t, he needs to know Yuri is okay and -and he collapses, right then and there.

When he wakes up, the second time, he thinks it’s a dream. His angel is sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair next to him and he’s perfect. He’s safe, he’s smiling and he’s crying, too. He’s the most human Otabek has ever seen him, what with the ratty clothes and blood stained face, for a moment, Otabek thinks it’s a nightmare, but then his angel’s hand closes on his and this one, transcendent dream becomes reality. Its gut wrenching, this feeling of hope he’s never had before, this feeling that things might be okay for once. It’s in the way his Yura is letting the tears flow, uncaring. It’s in the way he sits there all rumpled and bruised just like an angel who fell on Earth a bit too hard and Otabek thanks a God he’s never believed in. He thanks every single God he can think of because _thank you, thank you for this angel, thank you for this last chance_. They don’t say a word, they wait for the nurse in silence and Otabek can’t advert his eyes from this boy even for a second. It’s the most peaceful he’s been since he was a child.

They can’t discharge him, of course, after all he should have understood by now. There’s two civilian-looking guys standing outside his door, but Otabek easily recognises them as agents. Sometimes, his hazy mind supplies, he’s quite sure he’s seen Captain McCoy looking through the window of his room. He asks Yuri, then, if it was the FBI that killed Aleksey. His angel turns wary and colour rises to his cheeks, but he nods anyway. He doesn’t worry about Yuri’s embarrassment, he’s too busy realising that they might make it, after all. Going into Witness Protection together had never been a possibility because Otabek was not supposed to be in the equation, he was supposed to be nothing but a random number that gets crossed out one step before the resolution. Now he’s here and he’s alive, he’s here and Yuri is alive, he’s here and they’re going to get out of this hell _together_. The thought is so heady it makes his vision blur, his heart clenches so tight he’s afraid it might implode. And then there’s the hysterics, the laugh, the incredulity because _how the hell did this happen?_

“It was me.”

It’s Yuri, talking with his head down and his pretty eyes lowered to the ground.

“What?” Stupidly asks Otabek. There’s silence, then, and it lasts almost too much, it’s almost enough to make Otabek snap. But he doesn’t, because Yuri speaks up.

“You know,” he says, his head raised up high now, chin jutting out stubbornly, “I’m not stupid. I knew all about the calls and the reports, I’ve survived Aleksey, you should have known better.”

It’s a hit right in the stomach and it punches the air out of his lungs. It feels like drowning.

“I know who you are, Otabek Altin.”

Everything freezes. Time, space, Yuri, Otabek. He should have known, _fuck_ he should have known. It’s all ruined now, he was supposed to tell him today or tomorrow, he was supposed to explain and now Yuri already knows and already has his own ideas and he might not want Otabek anymore. This would be worse, losing him like this would be worse than death. Call him obsessed, call him dependent and unhealthy, he won’t change his mind. Because losing his Yura’s trust should be ground for execution.

“How-“ he stammers, “how long?”

There’s a grimace on his angel’s face, now, lopsided and acrid.

“Since October, since you answered that phone call while you thought I was asleep.”

And that, well, Otabek was so fucking stupid. So. Fucking. Stupid. The thing is, he was getting sloppy and he was so unbelievably comfortable around his angel that he didn’t even think before answering that call. He remembers that night perfectly. He remembers this glitter covered kitten shining in the moonlight, with smudged makeup and an eagerness that never fails to get Otabek riled up. He remembers the exhausted sleep, afterwards, and the stupid call at nine in the morning and the shutters blocking out the sunlight and the windows muting the city sounds and his Yura sleeping soundly. Stupid, so stupid.

“I’m-“ He doesn’t even know what to say, he doesn’t even have anything to say at all. It’s all stuck in his throat and he’s going to cry, fuck he’s going to cry like a-

“I love you, Otabek Altin.”

He cries. He bursts into tears in a hospital room with the FBI right outside his door and an IV stuck in his forearm. Yuri doesn’t let him go on for long, though.

“No, no you don’t get to -no. You listen to this, you listen to me, okay?”

He’s cupping Otabek’s face in his hands, soft and dirty hands that made Otabek feel so, so good. There’s nothing he can do except nod, then Yuri chases the tears away with his tongue. A kitten.

“I know who you are and I love you.”

He wants to reply, he wants to say that he loves him, too, much more than his angel can imagine. He wants to say that those three words just lifted a weight from his shoulders, a weight he’d been carrying since he saw his Yura dance for the first time. Not a word leaves his mouth, but his angel knows and Otabek can see it. He sees it in the way his gaze softens and the way his grip turns to caresses, in the way his eyes fill with tears and he sniffs, once, so endearing Otabek’s chest tightens. They kiss, then. Not gently, nor hesitant, it’s never been like this for them. They kiss hungry and expectant and fast and wet. They kiss like the first fucking time.

“I cut it off.” Whispers Yuri, once they’re apart. There’s something that’s being pressed into Otabek’s hand but he can’t move his eyes from Yuri’s face, he can’t make himself stop looking at this miracle. He doesn’t need to, the shape of it is unforgettable. A gleaming gold anklet, two threads intertwined, one slim and plain, the other an elegant, expensive replica of barbed wire. A pendant, engraved. It catches the hospital neon lights and shines like the reminder it is meant to be, the reminder that Yuri Plisetsky is free.

“How did you-? He’s stopped by a finger resting on his lips.

“It doesn’t matter, we’re safe. We’re out.”

They are, they really are. Things are going to be fine, they’re going to start a new life and they’re going to be together. It’s everything Otabek has ever dreamed of and, still, he can’t help but wonder how Yuri could ever love him knowing he’s been lying to him the whole time. He’s been hiding a secret so big it would send everyone running for the hills. He’s here, though. His Yura is here and he’s not leaving. His Yura is here and he loves him.

“Did you know what Aleksey would do? What -why did you do it? Why did you... save me?”

“Because,” smiles his angel, sharp and cocky and _so_ clever “you aren’t the hero in this story, I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on tumblr as angel-yuri!


End file.
